


Yellow, Orange, Seeing Red

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirigiri didn't like to believe rumors, but after the two minutes she spent actively listening to Hanamura, she had to admit that they weren't always false. </p><p>The chef's tuneless whistling certainly didn't help his case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow, Orange, Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

> I was peeling carrots and my hands got cold and I thought "what if Kirigiri wears gloves when she cooks" and this story makes about as much sense as my thought process. I tried a bit of a different writing style, so I hope it doesn't sound too pretentious, and I hope the readers aren't as uncomfortable reading Hanamura's lines as I was writing them.
> 
> On that note, please note that Hanamura will say some pretty gross things here, so if that's likely to cause discomfort, you may want to refrain from reading this.

Kyouko Kirigiri had spent many late nights poring over case files, textbooks, or both in preparation for upcoming deadlines and exams. She had not once been kept awake because of something as irrelevant as nerves.

From the moment of her birth and thereafter, Kirigiri's demeanor had remained unfalteringly calm. Many called her cold or even stone-like in reference to her constant blank expression and measured words, but she quickly learned to shrug off such comments; she considered a level head necessary to cope with with her tumultuous life and profession. The matter of Makoto Naegi became somewhat of a cause for concern, then, if he was able to take her by surprise in complimenting a simple thing like her smile.

She had seen one or two bad movies in which a heroine would vehemently deny any romantic feelings for another and deduced it to be a common trope in romantic comedies, so, with distaste at the thought of becoming a cliché, she accepted the slight nervousness that accompanied the presence of a plain-looking boy and his abundant, more apparent nervousness in asking her on an outing. Just because she was not accustomed to having infatuations did not mean that she resisted them.

However, though she tolerated the slight diversions, the temporary lapses in judgement, the way he would thread in and out of her thoughts, she did not wish for the whole matter to distract her from more important things, such as work or sleep. The detective desperately wished for the latter on the one night when the pit in her stomach would not settle: the night, not coincidentally, before the scheduled date with Naegi.

She had spent well over an hour attempting to close her eyes and settle into sleep before she gave up and headed downstairs, glancing at the clock to notice that the time approached midnight. She sighed and headed for the kitchen provided specifically for the students of Hope's Peak who thought themselves above cafeteria food or who, like Kirigiri, needed to cook at ridiculous hours. She was not under any illusion that her culinary skills were at all above average, but she found the process of chopping ingredients rather calming and hoped the methodical motions could lull her to sleep.

In approaching the door to the kitchen, she noted a thin stream of light cast from within the room and took a few moments to prepare herself before entering. Kirigiri was of the firm belief that one could never act with too much caution, but she relaxed just slightly upon recognizing the stout form whistling softly and whisking the contents of a large bowl.

Kirigiri knew the man as Teruteru Hanamura, an exceptional chef belonging to the class one year her senior, and, though she was not one to believe rumors, she had certainly heard a fair amount of slander in regards to his seemingly-overbearing personality. Her guard therefore remained raised as she rapped the open door twice, hoping that the sudden noise would not surprise the room's occupant.

Hanamura held the bowl close to his chest as he turned and beamed at Kirigiri. "Well! What an honor to have a late-night rendezvous with such a lovely lady, Miss...?"

"Kirigiri." The detective was unsure if Hanamura had truly not studied the incoming freshman class or was feigning politeness, but she suspected the latter.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Kirigiri! I've heard quite a bit about you already, you know," the chef chirped, turning back to the counter and setting his bowl down as he looked through the bottom cupboards. "And what might you be doing up and in the kitchen at such a late hour?"

"I should ask you the same," Kirigiri said. She walked over to the fridge and examined its contents, indecisive as to which dish to make. Preferably something quick.

Hanamura chuckled and proudly displayed a cupcake pan. "I am baking for my wonderful classmates, of course!"

"I see." Kirigiri took a carrot from the fridge and searched for a knife. She had never been one for small talk, but she decided to take Hanamura's bait in hopes of using the additional distraction to calm herself. "Is there some sort of special occasion taking place tomorrow?"

"Yes, yes, it is the lovely Miss Sonia's birthday!" Hanamura resumed whistling as he poured the batter into the pan. "She's definitely fit to be called a princess, and it seems like others from our class agree with me! I'll surely get into a little spat with her pink-haired suitor for baking her something... maybe he'll even bit me with those sharp teeth of his, hmm?" He practically giggled at the thought. Kirigiri wrinkled her nose and reminded herself that some rumors were indeed based in truth. "And tall, dark, and handsome will probably have a few choice words for me, too. Oh, just thinking about all those hot and bothered boys makes me want to work even faster!"

Kirigiri, disgusted, did not bother with a response, and she doubted that she would have had anything to say to Hanamura's fantasies either way. She instead peeled the carrot, cut off both ends, and began chopping it into smaller pieces to julienne. Hanamura put the cupcakes in the oven and turned around, leaning casually against the counter but frowning as he noticed Kirigiri's gloved hands.

"It's _incredibly_ unsanitary to cook with leather gloves," he said, walking over to her. "Think about all the places they've been! You'll get yourself sick." He reached toward her arm but halted as he noticed Kirigiri's glare.

"I'll leave them on. Germs cook out." She continued chopping.

"Not always," Hanamura said. His arm nonetheless fell to his side. "Some types of bacteria excrete toxins that can stay on the food, and then where will you be? Your pretty face will be all scrunched up as you lie in bed with horrible, horrible food poisoning, and you don't want that!"

Not impressed with his knowledge of biology, Kirigiri said, "That typically only occurs in bacteria that grow on meats. Please let the matter rest."

Hanamura huffed. "What, do your hands get cold easily? I would be more than happy to warm them up for you!"

Kirigiri set the carrot slices aside and began warming up a pan before going to get eggs. She said nothing in hopes of terminating the conversation.

"Are you making an omelette with carrots in it?"

No such luck. (She almost reminded herself that she wasn't Naegi before thinking that no, he was the whole reason she was down here and she couldn't think of him right now.) She exhaled silently through her nose and nodded.

"Interesting!" Hanamura put a hand to his chin. "Any particular reason why you decided to try that?"

"I like carrots." Kirigiri cracked and whisked the eggs while trying not to make her movements too violent; showing that she was irritated would only encourage Hanamura to ask more questions, and, even if she was a bit out of sorts, she was cross with herself for letting his pestering get to her.

Hanamura nodded and whistled to himself as he checked the oven timer. Kirigiri drizzled oil into the pan and had to stop herself from wincing as the room's other occupant hit a grating high note. She wished she had just eaten the carrot raw.

Fifteen less-than-musical seconds ticked away on the digital clock before Hanamura said, "So, Detective Kirigiri, what kinds of cases have you done in the city?"

She sighed. "Which city?"

"Any one, really! Being a city boy myself, I'm quite curious about your experiences. Have you sampled exotic cuisines, chased after criminals through busy streets in those _lovely_ knee-high boots of yours, had any love affairs with foreigners...?"

Kirigiri quirked an eyebrow, though her focus remained pointedly on the cap to the oil bottle that she twirled between her fingers. "I think you may have a few misconceptions about my profession. I would advise against believing the material in detective novels."

"Oh, they're not _novels_ by any means, Miss Kirigiri," Hanamura chuckled. Kirigiri suppressed a shiver. "But really, tell me of your life! The students here have such fascinating stories, don't they?"

"I suppose," Kirigiri said. It seemed as though she had to force the words from her mouth, especially when she continued to say, "I do travel regularly for my job to investigate crimes that require special assistance to solve, but they are not leisure trips. Everything I do out of this country is centered around business."

Hanamura hummed. "Not much for fun, are you?" He tapped his foot against the tile floor to fill the silence. "So, favorite position?"

Kirigiri tightened the cap on the oil a little more aggressively than she intended to and said, "Excuse me?" She cursed herself immediately for responding to such a bizarre question, but it could mean any number of things, and it was only reasonable that she would be curious.

She really, really needed to go to sleep.

"Y'know, position! In the government!" Hanamura giggled, outright _giggled_ at a pitch that would rival Junko Enoshima's lilting voice, and said, "I'm just kidding, of course. Maybe across a table, in the backseat of a car, in the kitchen...?" She could almost see his lecherous wink in her mind's eye.

"And what would possess you to ask such a personal question? You realize I could press charges for such comments." Kirigiri poured the eggs into the pan, smirking to herself at the thought of the slimy little man having a long talk with the toughest police officer the country had to offer.

On second thought, perhaps he would enjoy that. She had been bluffing, anyway, so hopefully he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Would I get to talk with a big, burly officer about it?" Hanamura crooned.

Damn.

"No. You will be speaking to this knife soon if you do not stop," Kirigiri said, staring unblinkingly at the omelette as though that would make it cook faster. Her finger traced over the hilt of the weapon in question as she realized that _he_ could now charge her for threatening violence, and her jaw tightened in contempt at the way a few words from Hanamura could make her lose her grip on a lifetime of restraint and control. Of course, she had spoken to individuals far more infuriating than the small chef, but those meetings had taken place when she still had a level head and wasn't trying to avoid nervous thoughts about a particular boy.

She gave up on her patience and dumped the half-cooked mush from the pan to her plate.

"Ah, you can't just say such... _titillating_ words and expect to leave me heartbroken here, can you?" Hanamura pouted as he watched Kirigiri put each utensil and condiment back in its place.

Kirigiri scooped up her plate and began walking away. "I'll know if you put anything... strange in those cupcakes," she said in a sort of response, shutting the door behind her seconds later.

Lying down in bed that night, the untouched omelette on her desk, Kirigiri determined that infatuations were a waste of time and energy if all that came out of them was a late-night meeting with an unusually disorienting young man when she was in an unusually disoriented state of mind. 

Of course, she had to rethink the whole matter in the light of day, when unremarkable Naegi smiled at her across the unremarkable tablecloth of an unremarkable café and she smiled back regardless.

Favorite position, indeed.


End file.
